Identity
by KSUnsungHero
Summary: She's just the way she is but no one's told her that's okay


A/N: Just a little something I thought up. Lyrics are Beautiful Disaster by Jon McLaughlin

She stared down at the crumpled piece of paper, its writing smudged in different places where the drops had fallen onto the page.

It was a writing from the third grade and she smiled at the little circle drawn in place of the dot over the 'I' in her last name. It was a time when her creative streak had run rampant, allowing her to go to a far off place, away from confines of home.

As she read each line, her heart grew heavy for the little girl she was back then. She glanced back up at the title again.

Subject: What I Want to Be When I Grow Up

It all came back upon reading those nine words.

Nine. It had such a significance. The age she'd written the assignment. The number of letters in her name. Nine.

She scanned the page until he found the spot she'd been started reading. Before she knew it, her tears had fallen yet again onto the Big Chief paper.

She cried then for the little girl whose innocence was lost at such a tender age. For the girl that showed wisdom far beyond her years.

She'd begged her father to let her stay home from school the day they were supposed to read their writing to the class; something that was an unpleasant surprise to her. They had gone alphabetically, much to her relief, and she'd been able to put it off an extra day.

She still felt the stinging slaps on the bare skin of her arms and legs. Never the face, though, because no one could know what little Sara Sidle had to endure.

She heard the snickers as if she were still in that room; still felt the walls closing in on her with no means of escape. She'd read it slowly; head down, as if the words were hard to decipher.

When it was over, she had quietly made her way back to her seat.

They made fun of her for days.

Staring down at that paper, the journal of sorts for the little girl she was back then, she felt a familiar ache deep inside her soul.

She remembered all the fights she'd tried to block out back home with a pillow over her head.

Her parents would start to argue. Her mother would shoo her to the doorway where she knew she was to run upstairs as fast as her legs would take her.

_she loves her momma's lemonade  
hates the sounds that goodbyes make_

Her mother would come into her room sobbing, but always with a cool glass of her favorite beverage. She would pull off the pillow, tuck it gently beneath her daughter's head, wipe her tears, and tuck her in properly.

They would share a single glass of that pink liquid before the door would close, leaving Sara alone again until the next fight. She could still taste the sweetness as her tongue darted out, catching the moisture around her mouth.

She still hated the color pink.

Years later after she'd been placed in a new home, she'd lie awake staring up at the ceiling with the voices of her new foster parents below. There were no semi-bonding, midnight retreats to get away from the arguments and Sara had learned to rely on herself to get her through those hard times.

_she prays one day she'll find someone to need her  
she swears there's no difference between the lies and compliments  
it's all the same if everybody leaves her_

She'd gone to a new school where people knew of her story. She'd been old enough to read between the lines, and found that she could trust no one but herself.

In high school, the kids would make fun of her, calling her terrible names that she endured without a peep. She'd developed a tough skin over the years and would not give them the satisfaction of a response. They didn't deserve it.

She'd hide in the bathroom over lunch hour and stare down at the glossy pages, wishing she had perfect teeth, perfect hair, and a perfect body.

_and all the magazines tells her she's not good enough  
the pictures that she sees makes her cry_

She'd stepped into English class one day to a substitute teacher. He'd explained that he had a wife and two kids and she realized they were the same ages as she and her brother were. She didn't remember a lot of that day, just that she'd wished she could go home with that man.

_she would change everything, everything, just ask her  
caught in the in between of beautiful disaster  
she just needs someone to take her home_

Her junior year she'd started taking college classes at the local community center. Three days a week she earned credits toward her general studies. She didn't know what she wanted to study, but she knew she wanted out.

James McKinley had put on the moves, wooing her from the moment she first laid eyes on him. She'd let her hair grow out and looked older than she was. Late one night after class, James offered her a ride home and she readily accepted. He was the first of many guys she gave herself to, in hopes that one would come along and offer her more than rough, deliberate sex.

_she's giving boys what they want  
trying to act so nonchalant  
afraid to see that she's lost her direction_

She got along well with the girls in her classes, often hitting the local coffee shops so that Sara could tutor them with the areas in which they needed the most help. She enjoyed having friends for a change, as the college crowd seemed less judgmental, accepting her for who she was. In the back of her mind, though, she always dreaded the end of class when she would have to start over. Friendships never lasted beyond a semester.

_she never stays the same for long  
assuming that she'll get it wrong  
perfect only in her imperfection_

She breezed through her courses, often doubling up in the summer with her academic advisor's approval. It had taken some convincing, and she found it to be a blessing that the man had given her permission to take so many credits. She was on the fast track out of high school.

The many years struggling to break free left her exhausted, and she often wished she could drop out. She had too much at stake, though, too many college applications submitted to think about that.

_she's not a drama queen  
she doesn't wanna feel this way  
only 17 and tired, yeah_

She didn't have anyone to celebrate her congratulatory letter with so she'd gone to the park by her house. Carefully, she'd pulled out the wrinkled piece of paper. It had served its purpose, reminding her that she was well on her way to a better life. Little did she know just how right she'd been.

She smiled as she heard his soft footsteps on the floor. Turning her head to greet him, she patted the cushion and scooted over so he could join her on the sofa.

She saw his eyes wander from her red-rimmed eyes to the fragile paper in her hand. She offered it to him, letting him slowly take in the confessions of a nine-year old Sara Sidle.

With tears in his own eyes, he folded the letter back up and placed it onto the coffee table.

She closed her eyes as he kissed her forehead, gently taking her into his arms. She could feel her heart beating the same rhythm as his.

She pulled back, looked into his compassionate eyes, and listened intently as he told her how much he loved her and how happy he was to have found her. He shared his fond memories of when he'd met her and had finally worked up the courage to take her out for coffee.

Moments later, she lay her head on his chest as he whispered into her ear the words he wished someone had told her back then. She sighed, content with the way things had turned out. For once in her life, she was happy the way she was, and she had him to thank for it.

Little Sara Sidle had grown up. She'd found acceptance and love. Most of all, she'd found her identity, and she no longer wanted to be anyone else.

_she's just the way she is  
but no one's told her that's okay_


End file.
